


The Walls Between Us

by redwinehouse (orphan_account)



Series: Cranial Capacity INDEFINITE HIATUS, BUT A FULL STORY LINE WAS COMPLETED [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, Humor, Infidelity, Romance, Sherlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/redwinehouse
Summary: You finally confess your affair to Sherlock and must deal with the ramifications.* I was told by a reader that it made her cry.





	The Walls Between Us

  


[ ](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)

  


Sherlock’s eyes followed you as you wordlessly scuttled upstairs to your bedroom. You hid your face behind your hair, so he had no chance to read your expression, something he found rather unsettling. 

“Okay, that was not normal,” John turned to Sherlock, “and I know this might be none of my business, but you really need to talk to her.” 

Sherlock blinked owlishly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “She’s ashamed.” 

“Even I can see that. Now go.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

At no point in his life had John seen his best friend look so pained. He had brought his forehead down and was now resting it against his fingers. He was hunched over as if he wanted to disappear from the situation. Sherlock suddenly seemed very interested in his feet. 

“Sherlock, I am telling you,” John said, “you will be miserable forever. If it helps, I’ll always be here.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Oh, that makes this situation so _less horrible.”_

Understanding that Sherlock was going through an emotional shredder, John let the sarcastic remark roll off his shoulders. “Go,” he ordered quietly. 

With a deep breath, Sherlock stood up. 

~*~ 

As soon as your foot touched the final step, you hurled yourself into the bathroom, scrubbing every inch of Moriarty’s smell from you. You scraped yourself with your loofa so hard that your skin had turned red and raw, but you didn’t care. Covered in suds, you put the rest of the shampoo you had in your hair, turning it into a gloppy mess. You stepped out of the shower as clean and abused as you had ever been. 

Next, you ran to the windows, flinging them open to allow the afternoon breeze into your room. You couldn’t risk your bloodhound of a husband smelling Moriarty on your clothes. Hopefully the stink of Whitechapel had either masked or at least diluted his cologne. 

You turned around, your eyes flying wildly around the room, looking for anything else that could damn you. You heart lurched when you saw the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. There was no place to hide them. The laundry was downstairs and there was no way you could carry them there. If you left them here, Sherlock would smell them in a second. Panicking, you grabbed your clothes and threw them out the window. 

Your heart must have been trying to punch its way out of your chest, because it had never beaten as hard as you put on your pajamas. You slid down the door and sat on the ground, placing a hand on your chest, trying to take deep breaths. You went to rub your neck and winced. You looked at your shoulder and your heart dropped; a deep red and blue bite mark was sinfully blooming on your neck. There was no way to cover it up without looking absolutely ridiculous. 

“Oh, god,” you whispered. You got up and locked the bedroom door, a very stupid action that would only prolong the inevitable. Just then, you got a bloody text and you knew damn well who it was from. You picked up your phone. 

_Sorry for the name calling_

_The joke wrote itself_

_Forgive me?_

_:(_

You gritted your teeth and put your phone down before burying your head in your legs, then you grabbed it so hard that your knuckles went white and responded. 

_I can only deal with a certain amount of emotional manipulation a day,_

__

__

_Thanks._

You smashed the ‘send’ button with your thumb. Moriarty must have had magical fingers, because it seemed to be mere seconds before your screen lit up. 

_Okay :\_

BUT _I will see you tomorrow_

_No backs-y outs-y’s._

_Or the blackmail thing again_

You closed your eyes and rested your phone against your forehead. You took a deep breath before you replied. 

_Fine._

A streak of boldness coursed through you and you typed, 

_Sherlock’s about to catch you anyway, James._

Send. For the first time, it took several moments before you got a reply. 

_Sweetheart,_

_If you ever think that you have the upper hand,_

_Or are one step ahead,_

_Look at the person you are secretly texting._

_I’ll see you tomorrow (aldskjghskjldasf)_

_Now, ‘LUCY, YOU GOT SOME ‘SPLAININ’ TO DO!’_

Just then you heard a gentle knock and your name called softly. You shot up and took a step back from the door. 

“Why is the door locked?” Sherlock asked. 

Your mouth was agape as you tried to think of a reasonable answer. “I just really needed some alone time,” you said lamely, wincing at your own poor lie. At this rate you deserved to get caught. 

“Well, you didn’t need to lock the door to do that.” Sherlock had the usual quip in his voice, but it was notably layered with sadness. You felt your heart drop; Sherlock knew that something was wrong, but you weren’t sure if he knew exactly _what_ was wrong. 

There was a _‘thunk’_ and you realized Sherlock had rested his forehead against the door. “What are you hiding from me?” he asked quietly. 

You approached the door and pressed your forehead against it. There was only a simple piece of wood that was separating the two of you. You didn’t know it, but Sherlock had placed his fingertips right where yours were brushing against the door. You were so close, but so far away. Tears began to well in your eyes and you did your best not to make any noise as they began to roll down your cheeks. You both stood there, two lovers desperate for one another, but kept apart by tragedy. 

Sherlock had closed his eyes. “Please open the door,” his voice was low and raspy, “I need to talk to you.” 

Your hand immediately went to the bruise on your neck. “I can’t. You’ll hate me.” your shoulders were shaking as the silent sobs racked through you. 

“I could _never_ hate you, I love you. I’ve loved you for five years. You are the mother of my child, and you are the best thing that has happened to me, even better than that time John thought marmite was chocolate and put it all over that cake and he almost choked to death.” Sherlock placed his hand against the door, “Why won’t you open the door?” 

“Because you will know everything the second you walk in,” you choked. 

You heard Sherlock let out a shaky sigh. “That gives me enough to deduce.” There was a pause before he began with a raspy voice, “You refuse to open the door because there is physical evidence that I would immediately see. It would be obvious to me, and perhaps anyone, why it was there. You are ashamed of it and are clearly hiding it from me, meaning that whatever it is would directly hurt me in some way. It’s not a great leap to say that it’s nothing physical; you didn’t walk in with any weapons and I have been home all day and I would have noticed anything dangerous in the room. Not to mention the idea is absolutely ridiculous,” Sherlock swallowed and you heard his voice crack. 

You put a hand over your mouth so that you could hide the sob that came when you heard his heart break. 

“So, the physical evidence is on you. Filth such as dirt or food stains wouldn’t upset me, leaving me with the obvious answer as to why you will not open this door.” 

Neither of you said anything for a while and you could hear the small sounds of someone fighting against the urge to breakdown. 

“How long?” Sherlock finally managed. There was a bump and a slide; Sherlock had slid down the door and was sitting against it. You followed suit. 

You bit your lip. You couldn’t say two days because he would immediately know it was Moriarty. “Not long.” 

“Is it someone we know?” Sherlock’s voice was thick and you heard him sniff. 

You fiddled with your fingers, trying to be vague as possible, “No.” You really didn’t know who Moriarty was. Of course that wasn’t the question Sherlock was asking, but you could twist it enough to make you honest in your mind. 

“Was it something I did?” 

“Sherlock, you are the most amazing man I have ever met and the absolute love of my life. You did absolutely nothing wrong. It was all me.” 

“Then why?” 

That was the question for the ages. You had been wrestling with it yourself over the last couple days. “I think I’m interested in an academic sense, the mystery, and…” you groaned. 

“Be honest,” Sherlock pressed. 

“He’s attractive.” 

Sherlock was very quiet and his voice had become very flat. “Do you plan on seeing him again?” 

“Tomorrow,” you added with urgency, “just to break it off. It’s done Sherlock. It’s nothing. The only reason it’s been going on this long is because he’s been blackmailing me.” 

For the first time Sherlock sounded like his old self. “What is he, in the mafia?” 

There it was again. Clouding his judgment with the answer just on the tip of his tongue. 

_Sentiment._

Then Sherlock said the words that ripped you to shreds. 

“I still love you. Please open the door.” 

With what little strength you had, you pulled yourself to your feet and unlocked your door. The first thing you always noticed about Sherlock was his eyes, and today his blue ones were rimmed with scarlet. The skin around them was red and puffy, raw from all of the itching and wiping away of tears. Ever the stoic, they were only watery and he had clearly put himself together as much as he could before he saw you. 

Never one to care about your image, your face crumbled as he reached out his hand and pulled you to his chest. He wrapped his one arm around your waist and used the other to gently bring your cheek to his chest. He rested his chin on your head. As hard as he tried, Sherlock couldn't stop hiccuping, so he buried his face your hair. His body would jump with every squeak. 

When they passed, his voice was deep and quiet. You could feel it in his chest when he spoke, “I know you well enough to understand that this is a mistake and you are truly repentant. I do believe that you will end it, and I will take you at your word that it has nothing to do with me. However,” Sherlock tilted your chin up and looked at you sadly. “I won’t be able to trust you. I don’t know for how long. Maybe for a week, a month, perhaps for the rest of our lives. Whenever you are gone, there will be question marks in my head, wondering if you’re really going where you say you are." 

It would have been better if Sherlock had screamed at you, said that he hated your or that you should move out. One of the two most important people of your life no longer had faith in you. He could no longer count on you, or even take your word. You had lost all of your self-worth in your mind. What could you offer him if he couldn’t trust you? 

“Sherlock,” you whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

~*~ 

Later that night, you, Sherlock, and John started the fire and decided to watch a movie. Tomorrow was the day the DNA sample would be ready and would hopefully be matched with someone in the criminal database and finally lead you to Jade. Between that and the admission of your affair, you all needed a break. 

Strangely, Sherlock reacted the exact opposite of what you expected. He was practically all over you, whether it was holding your hand while you were both sitting to following you around the house. It was like he was afraid you were going to disappear. Even now, when John set up the movie, Sherlock had pulled you onto his lap and held onto you for dear life. 

“Okay, what is up with you?” you finally asked. 

Sherlock merely blinked before looking down at his arms. “I just am afraid of losing you,” he mumbled, embarrassed and not wanting John to hear. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised quietly, looking him in the eyes. 

“Well, okay then.” Sherlock pushed you off him and steepled his fingers, “That makes things easier.” His eyes flicked to the television screen. “This movie is horrible.” 

“That’s because you haven’t been watching it!” John said. 

You laughed from your place on the floor. It seemed as if you were back to your old rhythm and you had to treasure it as much as you could, even if it was just for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this because I had a blast writing this. It really flowed and I liked it when I edited it.
> 
>  
> 
> [There is a new Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them fic that I have started and I really like it so far. If you are interested, pop over to my works! It's actually happy and I think it's pretty cute. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11833146/chapters/26707980)
> 
>  
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> [](http://www.dazzlejunction.com/generators/image-generator.php)  
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> 


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